


The Destination

by Missy



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, Drug Dealing, F/M, Family Dynamics, Forced Prostitution, Road Trips, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 09:59:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2769038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a sequel to All Points North and West (http://archiveofourown.org/works/77777), Sam, Fi and Madeline must make a heroic and perilous journey back to Florida from Arizona when Michael finally makes contact with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Destination

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Journeystory in '14, thank you to Nicky for the art!
> 
> Please note: this fic contains canon-typical violence, mentions coerced prostitution, slavery, domestic abuse.

The mattress was lumpy as hell, but it was more comfortable than facing the ringing phone. 

Sam turned over. Grunted. Stared at the vibrating lump of plastic and contemplated the proper protocol. He could just ignore it. He’d imagined doing so often, curled up and staring at the ceiling of yet another hotel room during this long-form fight from the law. Sam had envisioned a thousand different conversations over the passing months; he imagined telling Michael all about the struggles they’d had along the way, the people they’d helped, the times he wished he could turn to his right and hang his arm around his best friend’s neck. 

Then the thoughts had grown darker. He’d yell at Michael for missing a birthday, or for making his mother’s life harder; he’d call him a coward for disappearing into the folds of the FBI and refusing to call home. For reverting to ancient behaviors that were dangerous now for them all. For letting Fiona cry alone. For forcing them to run to Reno and the general safety of Nate’s apartment when they all missed Miami more than anything else. When they wished they could be home sitting together in a mass at Carlito’s eating terrible salsa and drinking Coronas while planning the next job. He’d changed them all so much and so deeply, for better and for worse, and Sam had to struggle with those differences as he started at the buzzing, glowing phone.

Then a voice cut through his mixed emotions. “Is that the damn emergency ringer?” Fiona mumbled against his neck. 

“Yeah,” Sam admitted. “Should I answer it?”

Fiona took a moment to consider the possibility. Then she shrugged. “It’s his dime, Sam.”

Sam reached for the phone and pressed it to his ear. A crackling sound greeted him, indicating the poor quality of their connection.

“Sam?” came the voice. It sounded weary, but the dry, detached tone was Michael’s in every way. 

He automatically dispensed with any and all bullshit. “Where are you, Mike?”

Silence. “It’s a long story. It took awhile to get everything settled. Can you meet me somewhere?”

“I would if I could, but we’re not in Florida anymore.”

“Oh.” A pause. “Can you send me a map?”

“Can you prove to me this call isn’t being traced?” 

Silence passed between them. “I know you don’t trust me right now, but you’re going to have to, Sam.” That one word, heavy with emotion and expectancy, a reminder that he wasn’t speaking to Chuck Finley but to his best friend. 

Sam raked a sleep-heavy hand over his features. He calculated the risk; the cells were fairly untraceable, unless the wifi had been breeched and hacked – and it was highly unlikely it had been, Sam had set it up himself. 

“All right,” Michael responded to the cool silence that greeted his suggestion. “We’ll have to do it your way. I’ll meet you in Florida.”

Sam sucked thoughtfully on his bottom lip. His teeth released his flesh when Fiona tugged hard on his free elbow. He shrugged and decided agreeing was easier than battling his best friend. “Okay Mikey. Can you gimmie a promise, Mike?”

“I can try,” said Michael carefully.

“Can you promise me we won’t be followed?” Sam wondered. 

“I’ll go alone. And I won’t wear a wire. I’ll meet you at Carlito’s next Sunday,” he said. “Past noon. I’ll be in the center of the room with a red flower pinned to my lapel…”

“Unless you got plastic surgery I think I’ll be able to recognize you,” Sam declared quietly. 

“Okay. Right, right. Try to convince Fiona to come….I don’t know if she wants to see me, but I’ve missed her.” 

“Right.” Sam eyed Fiona again and felt a thrill of irony coast down his spine. 

“It’ll be worth it, I promise you. I’ve missed you guys so much. And…I’ll buy you beer, too, Sam. All the beer you want.”

“Right. Thanks, Mikey. It’s gonna take me a week – I’ve gotta tune the Cadillac up first – but I’ll be there. Just tell me one thing?”

“Yeah?”

“How do you feel?”

There was a slight pause, again, a certain sense of weary loneliness. “Better than I have in a long time.”

Sam didn’t want to imagine what that entailed. What had they done to his best friend? Had he been hurt somehow? He didn’t have time to weigh the words further. “Stay safe,” he demanded.

“I’ll try,” Michael said. Then the static overwhelmed their connection, cutting the connection short.

It roared back to abrupt life and nearly made Sam leap out of his skin. “Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“How’s Fiona?”

Sam cast his gaze upon the Irish woman. He had no way to quickly explain how his relationship with Fiona had changed over the miles into something amazing and incredible. There was a bit of a lump in his throat, and he had to swallow, had to choke it down, before he turned toward Fiona and shut off the phone. “She’s beautiful, Mike. Completely beautiful.”

“Glad to hear it. I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah. Goodnight.” He stared at the phone for a moment before Fiona prodded his side.

“What the hell does he want?” Fiona wondered. 

“To meet us,” Sam said. “Sounds like he’s on the move from wherever the stashed him. I don’t know if that’s bad or good.” He grumbled and rubbed his temples. “Good old Mikey, always popping up when you don’t expect him to.” 

“Always,” Fiona pouted. “This calls for a glass of wine. Or three,” she suggested.

“I’ll go on and get it after I get my forty winks.” She gave him an outraged gasp and Sam bit back a smirk. “Okay, I’ll get up, I’ll get up.” The trip to the kitchen was brief, and by the time of his return Fiona had propped herself up in bed and begun polishing her nails. 

Sam considered the path that had brought them to the point of this relationship and wondered how he’d managed to keep someone like Fiona entertained for so long. She was not the easy sort in any respect - and he bore the bruises to prove it – but she had turned to him in their shared time of loneliness. It was no shock that they’d ended up in bed together, turning to each other because they had no other friendly faces around who knew them, understood their struggles, and grasped what they’d all suffered through together over the past few months. 

It had been a long trip, literally – a long-form sacrifice that none of them had anticipated making when they’d ran from the Miami PD’s offices with Madeline in tow. `They’d seen hundreds of small American towns and helped people across the country on their way to Nate’s condo. They’d bonded and shared things he’d never thought he’d share. Sam had long ago stopped classifying Maddie and Fi as “Mikey’s Girl” and “Mikey’s Mom”; Maddie was his mom. Fiona was his girl. In some weird, freaky-deaky way, he and Mikey had swapped positions; he was the beloved boyfriend and son, Mikey was the long-lost bounder without a care in the world.

He heard it off in the distance, the sudden, surprising sound of a gun’s hammer cocking. He quickly shattered the full bottle of wine against the hard kitchen counter, spraying the surface with smoked glass.

The busted wine bottle wouldn’t be too much protection against whoever had a gun trained on him, but the darkness would also aid his progress. He flicked off the kitchen light, grabbed the neck of the bottle and stayed low as the dark-shrouded figure approached him slowly.

When it was in reach, he grabbed for the person’s ankles and dragged them to the ground. He’d wrapped both of his hands around the wrist of the hand holding the gun before he recognized the scent of stale cigarettes and heard the jingle of jewelry. The finger wrapped around the trigger relaxed and he pulled the gun away. “Maddie?”

“Who else?” she snapped. “What are you doing up this late, Sam?”

“Uh, bad news and good news – good news is, we heard from Mikey, and I’m gonna drive out to Miami to meet up with him.”

Madeline became instantly and breathlessly excited by the idea of seeing her son again. “Michael? Is he all right, is he hurt?”

“Nah - he seemed okay. GAH, Maddie, you’re squeezing the hell out of my arm!”

“It’s not every day I hear from my son these days. Sorry for being so excited,” she sardonically said, releasing her grip and scooting away from him. “Why are you in your underwear in the kitchen in the middle of the night, Sam?”

“Because I felt like airing my boys out,” he replied, to her groan. “I just wanted to get Fi a glass of wine.”

“Since when are you drinking with Fiona?” she wondered. “I hope she’s the one who’s going to drive tomorrow, you know how you get when you’ve had a long day.”

Sam was rarely out of control, but Madeline, as always, seemed to have a sixth sense for how good news resonated with his sobriety. “It just felt like a special occasion,” laughed Sam nervously. “Y’know with Michael just calling and all. Heh,” he laughed nervously.

But Madeline had grown adept in seeing right through his subterfuge. “SAM!” Madeline’s right hand reached out and whapped him right across the cheek, sending him sprawling to the floor. 

“OW. Hey, lay off me, Maddie! I tried not to tell you what we were really doing,” he pouted.

“See how well that worked out for you?” She frowned. “Whatever’s going on between you and Fiona’s your business. I need you to focus!” He heard her lighter spark, and then smelled the familiar scent of her brand of cigs fill the air by his face. “My son has been through something worse than either of us can ever imagine. We have to make sure he’s healthy and safe,” she said. “If you’re not up to it, I could always ask Fiona to keep an eye on him…”

“I’ll do it, eesh!” Sam glowered as Madeline helped him to his feet. “Where did you learn to jump a guy like that, anyway?”

“I had a life before you, Sam.” She replied lightly. Sam eyed her curiously as she stumbled her way out of the living room, leaving Sam to pick up the mess and find some fresh wine for Fiona.

He returned with a half-full glass, and she complained it was warm. It got much warmer, after Sam pressed his lips to hers and distracted her with a bit of lovemaking.

*** 

But the following morning there was no denying that Sam needed to go, and no denying that Fi was coming with him. “I’m going, too,” Maddie said, already packing up two weeks of acquired clothing, shoes and chotchkes. Sam wondered how she’d manage to fit it all in the back of the Cadillac, but Madeline was a mistress of making odd objects fit together as if they’d been welded that way; Sam admired her for her martinet ways, and her endless patience with the many transitions they’d endured over the past few months.

Nate could only stand haplessly by and wave them on; his presence in the household had been a helpful one, but he’d also been something of a burden when they’d taken the odd mission. Most of their time had been spent tracking legal bounties, the rest trying to run normal day jobs during the waking hours of their lives while hoping to keep up a careful balance between living and helping people. Nate had his workaday jobs, his stability, his dating life; Sam was aware of being something of a day player in his life, but that didn’t stop him from developing a bit of an attachment to the kid. And to think, months ago he’d been nothing but an ornament to him, a side order of trouble to Sam’s attachment to Michael. And here they were awkwarding their way around a series of goodbyes. 

He shook the kid’s hand. “Take care of the place while we’re gone,” he ordered with gruff little laugh.

“Sure. Make sure my mom calls. And double-check she has all of her meds for me, okay?”

Poor Nate. He had no idea that Maddie’s medications were mostly for hypocondrical issues. But Sam nodded his head and piled into the car, noting that Nate watched their every move as he slipped behind the wheel and pulled the parking break.

Sam had left a hundred homes in his time, but there was still something painful about walking away from yet another welcoming shelter. He looked over his shoulder as he started the car and felt Fiona 

There was no guarantee they’d ever be back to this place again. He wanted to memorize the stupid crack he could never tar over on Nate’s street. He wanted to remember the way the sun caught the northernmost window and seemed to turn the driveway into a river of sparkling rainbows. He wanted to remember what it felt like to sit beside Madeline and enjoy her ridiculous soap opera, to lose his cares for an hour of companionship and family. But once he’d looked his fill, he turned toward the road and drove them on into the sunlight and toward the nearest highway.

He knew there was a snowglobe filled with Phoenix sand in the trunk.

*** 

By the time they reached Texas they were ready for a break. There was time to pee, to buy soft-shelled tacos from an old adobe down by the roadside, and make sure the car had enough water, gas and oil in it to make it through to the cooler climbs of the deep south.

Sam had known this would be an interesting adventure. The girls were already trying to collect knickknacks, and he was already trying to plot his next nap. They say SEALS prepare for everything, but they don’t train you for the lightning-quick moves of a tiny Irish terrorist when she’s 

“I can see you,” Fiona told Sam, resting her hand against the small of his back. “You’re plotting the next step, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. Think we’ll get to Huston before. How much do we have left?” he asked.

“Six hundred. That’s everything I made rounding up those bikers,” she said. “It should be enough to get us past Georgia,” she added. 

“And if it doesn’t, we’ll get by,” he said. They knew how to survive, and how to protect Madeline and keep her safe in the process.

Sam closed the trunk of the Caddy, giving it a gentle, friendly pat. “This baby ought to hold up for awhile yet. Didja get me something?”

“Your favorite,” she replied with a deliberately smarmy look. “Beef soft, and two chicken.”

Sam licked his lips, smiling widely; his belly gave an approving growl as he planed a kiss upon Fiona’s lips. They drew quickly apart as Madeline approached with her own wide grin in place, a large shopping bag tucked under her armpit. She withdrew two hats from it and waved them in the air, grinning. “I bought sombreros!” burbled Madeline, plunking one upon the head of Sam and handing it to Fiona.

“How nice,” Fiona said. “They’ll be wonderful for my next Fiesta.” 

Madeline ducked into the back seat, unloading her gift shop haul. “I bought two bags of cactus candy, and some guava jelly, and a paper bag of fry bread mix….” She tossed them into the back seat. “Don’t you two want something?”

Sam shook his head. “I’ve been through towns like this before,” he said. “They don’t have anything to offer, other than a pack of smokes and a bunch of dried jerkey.”

“They have margarita shakes,” said Madeline.

His eyebrow rose. “Hey Fi, you wanna take the next fifty miles.”

“No,” she deadpanned, but he’d already rushed away to the conviencemart Maddie had just exited. 

Inside, Sam met with a batch of icy air, neon lights, and a bright white walls of the small store. Compact, it still teemed with local tourist-related ephemera, along with local dinnertime staples and convenience-based medicine. Very typical at first sight, but still bubbling under the surface with a quiet sense of community pride. The guy behind the counter looked twenty as Sam approached with his purchase, and had a volume of Proust spread open just to the right of the register, heavily underlined with yellow Sharpie.

“Hey,” he said, “do you know how to get on the main highway from here?”

“Oh sure,” said the guy enthusiastically, taking out a map and drawing Sam a penciled path down the highway and toward an offramp. “Keep going straight and you should be on your way east. Where are you headed to, mister?”

“Florida.”

“Florida?” the kid echoed, as if Sam had told him he were headed to some magical enchanted kingdom that was beyond his reach. “Wow, I always wanted to go to Disney World.”

“Trust me,” Sam said. “That place isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Sure, it’s clean, and there are cops everywhere, but you’ll never get It’s a Small World out of your head.” He saluted the kid. “Sometimes dreams should just stay dreams.”

The kid just grinned and shook his head, then handed Sam his booze back in a large paper sack. That was when a feminine shout from the rear of the store drew Sam’s attention.

The guy was threatening to hit her – his fist was poised and cocked back, ready to strike, and it took Sam three strides to block his path and get himself between the guy’s swing and the woman’s jaw.

“Couldn’t help but notice your aim’s a little off.” He said, squeezing the man’s fist in a vicious grip until he felt his joints creak and groan between his fingertips. “I think you mean to punch the wall next to this fine young lady’s face. Now my eyes aren’t exactly the sharpest in my old age, but it looks like you’re having a little trouble with aim yourself.” He subtly twisted the man’s wrist back until he was forced to let out a soft gasp. “Now,” Sam said, his knee digging into the man’s wiry back and jabbing him quickly into the wall, “I want you to apologize to the wall. Say you’re sorry. Now.” 

“Orry! “ the man said, his tongue stuck and twisted into his cheek by the force of Sam’s hands.

“Now you should apologize to his beautiful young lady,” he said. “And promise to never hit her again, or I’ll make sure to find you and ruin what’s left of your face.”

“Sorry, Mahth!” he spat out. 

With that, Sam released the man, his body dropping in a pile at Sam’s feet. He scrambled out to the safety of the outside world, and the woman thanked Sam shyly, melting out into the terrible heat behind him.

“Wow, mister,” observed the kid behind the counter. “They’ve been coming in here for years, and he’s hurt her the same way, on and off, the whole time. I never had the courage to stand up to him – nobody did, til now. How’d you scare up the courage to do it?”\

“Easy, kid,” Sam said. “I just gritted my teeth and did the right thing. Next time he comes in,” Sam added, “tell him that if he doesn’t behave you’ll call the guy who kicked his ass. Tell him I’m on Special Forces with the police. That’ll scare him.” Sam felt a brief spike of guilt as he realized he’d be no help to the kid after today, but the idea seemed inspiring enough.

“Sure thing, mister,” said the kid. “Thanks for all of your help.”

“You’re welcome. Keep reading that Proust guy; I hear his advice is the best around.” Sam ducked out with his booze, to meet a waiting Fiona and Madeline.

“Sam, what in the world did you do back there?” Fiona asked. 

“Helped out,” he explained briefly, then pulled the car back onto the main drag.

** 

Louisanna was muggy and surprisingly quiet as they rolled through it. Sam stopped when they hit New Orleans, and they piled out of the car for food, beignets and the best coffee he’d had in years. It was near to midnight, and the Square was just starting to wake up. They spun out onto the cobbled streets, and Sam spun Fiona through the gathered crowd, growing giddier and giddier with every blat of a friendly horn. They found themselves a tiny room off of Main, and piled into three separate beds with a cool breeze blowing over their heated skin. It was an enviable night. They wouldn’t have to raise to greet the day until past noon, so they slept vainly, almost greedily. 

He should have expected to waken to something extreme after experiencing such peace, but a gun being pointed right under his nose was a new one.

Sam thrust both hands up, and felt Fiona’s legs contract around him like a voice. Beyond the nose of the gun stood a robber who was remarkably short; probably 4’11” or shorter. The end of the barrel was also shaking, telling Sam that the robber in question probably had little to no experience in the robbing department. He locked eyes with the robber two seconds before Fiona drew her own piece; he recognized with startling clarity the source of the robber’s misery and the words broke from his throat. 

“Fi, don’t!” He rested his hand on top of her wrist, but the very sight of another piece, wielded by someone with obvious training made the kid drop his gun. While Fi kept a bead on the kid, Sam bear-hugged his squirming form from behind and dumped him onto the mattress. 

Fiona had the kid by one wrist, and she twisted it hard behind his back, just as strong in the clutch as   
Sam. And just as pissed off. “Are you crazy?!” she snapped. “Do you have any idea how close you got us both to getting our brains blown out?”

“It’s just a kid, Fi!” he cried out. 

Sam’s suspicion was quickly confirmed when he made a move to unmask their invader. The face he saw when he ripped off the ski mask was babyfaced; it couldn’t be more than thirteen years old, with soft features, wild eyes; from the way he tried to back away from Fiona and Sam, he definitely wasn’t looking to be a hero. 

“Just go ahead and call the cops,” he said, sounding somehow ancient, somehow overly experienced in a way that was beyond his years. 

“What are you doing breaking into strange motel rooms on a school night?” Sam asked facetiously. “Your mom’s gonna be wondering why you’re cutting class to steal snowglobes from old ladies.”

“I don’t have a mom,” he said, flat and tired. His olive skin looked yellowed, roughened to Sam in the dim early morning light. “I don’t have nobody. Just turn me in, all right? At least that way I won’t have to deal with big Lou and his rotten goons.” 

“Who’s Big Lou?” Sam wondered. “And why are you worried about getting him angry?”

The kid frowned. “He’s my pimp, okay?” the kid said. “He runs a ring out in the docks on Atlantic. I told him that I’d make a better thief than a trick, but I can’t get any suckers on my lonesome. So like I said – just call the cops and get it over with cause anything’s better than this.”

Sam felt something deep within himself crater and give way in response to the vulnerability of the statement. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Bayley,” replied the kid. That was the start of something; an establishment of trust that would serve them all well as he tried to figure out how to placate the kid without getting him killed. “Bayley,” he said, “my name’s Chuck. This is my friend, Fiona. We’re going to help you get free of this guy.”

Sam didn’t need to check with Fi for permission – he knew how sensitive she was to the plight of kids, and how important in general protecting the welfare of children was to her. They’d have their work cut out for them – and they only had a few hours worth of time to do it in.

He’d have to go get Madeline up at an ungodly hour to accomplish those goals, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t mind enduring the wake-up call, if that meant getting a kid to safety. 

*** 

Sam guessed correctly, at least on that count. Madeline, to her credit, was so conditioned to helping Mike out on missions that she instantly claimed Bayley as one of the tribe. She nearly force-fed the kid flapjacks until he puked, then tried to encourage him to down waffles and thick bowls of quick oats and bacon on top of that. 

Bayley’s story was sadly typical of all of the runaways he’d known over his lifetime; an abused mom, an abusive stepfather; a headstrong kid and a ticket of town. They all think they’re headed for fame and success, but it rarely ends up that way; in Bayley’s case it had landed him in the claws of a street pimp, who had sold him to Big Lou, who dominated and nearly owned the market when it came to child prostitution and pornography in the area. Bayley had been swept off the bus and off into the ugly outskirts of the business; deemed too old for the trade and too bruised by its nightmarish constraints, he’d offered to do anything to get out of the clutches of Big Lou. The ‘anything’ had been moving on to picking pockets versus selling his body, and the trade wasn’t that much of a relief to his anxiety or the abuse of Lou.

While they ate, Sam and Fiona holed up together and strategized. “We’ll need a decoy,” Sam observed. “Somebody to seem vulnerable enough to work on the inside, but tough enough to shoot their way out if times get tough.”

She rolled her eyes at the plea in his. “Oh, must I now? Do I have a sign on my head reading ‘helpless little woman, tie up and guard at all times?”

“I’d do it myself but I don’t think Big Lou traffics fifty year old dudes.” He leaned in even closer and whispered into Fi’s ear, “did you bring the C4?”

“Is the Pope Catholic?” she wondered.

“It’s always worth asking, Fi,” he said, sitting back in his seat and gulping another mouthful of coffee. “We’ll keep you safe, Maddie and Me. Promise.”

“And what did I tell you back in Miami? A girl has to be her own white knight.” 

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

She reached for his wrist and squeezed it – and there Sam let her touch linger for a few moments, until it felt improper, too public, to let it linger on.

And he did have that much faith in her. Sam wouldn’t be surprised if she blasted her way out of there singlehandedly.

*** 

To his amazement, she lasted longer than he’d anticipated. Fi managed to wriggle information out of Big Lou with speed and class; playing naive and playing the perfect patsy for a seemingly-smart and vicious pimp such as himself. That was the thing about Fiona, he thought with admiration; no matter how hopeless the case seemed, and no matter how much the odds were stacked against them, Fi could turn it out with a shrug and a toss of her hair. No wonder they were together. 

It soon turned out that Big Lou had a soft spot for pretty girls – pretty Irish girls, who reminded him of the motherland, specifically. Fiona didn’t have to do much work to snag the kill; a little drugging with a combination of simple over-the counter cold medications; a evidence gathering with the microcamera she carried in her purse. A little C4 and a little bit of sheepherding of the kidnapped and downtrodden to the city streets as the police arrived. They evaporated back to the hotel, where they gathered their possessions and prepared for the long trip over the border to Mississippi. 

As they piled into the Cadillac, Sam noticed Bayley partially secluded among the hotel’s shrubbery. He approached carefully, and the youth was full of smiles once he recognized who it was.

That didn’t mean it was time for hugs, though. The kid pulled back his white-blond hair and lifted his shoulders.

The kid jammed his hands into his pockets and averted his eyes silently. “I guess I’m gonna go to the shelter tonight. Maybe. To see if my mom really is looking for me like Big Lou said she was.”

Sam nodded. “Good call. Bet she misses you more than anything.”

The kid smiled and shook his head. “She didn’t find me, Chuck. Nobody’s been looking for me.”

“That’s just what Big Lou wanted you to think,” Sam insisted. “A great kid like you’s bound to be missed.” But still Bayley stood, looking conflicted and sad. Sam knew just what to do to nudge him back to the shelter. “If you ever have any trouble with your mom,” he said, “and if her boyfriends ever – I mean ever – lays a hand on you, you call this number and I’ll help out.” The digits were to one of the emergency contact phones in the glove compartment, and he promised himself he’d keep the handset close to him and reachable at all times. 

Bayley eyed the number, stuffing it in his coat pocket. “How do I know I can trust you?”

Sam pointed toward the Cadillac. “Because back in that caddy there’s a little, beautiful woman with a very big gun who will not only hold me to every single word I said, she’ll also make your stepfather very sorry if he tries to abuse you. Got it, kiddo?”

Bayley nodded, wide-eyed. Sam clapped the kid on the shoulder and gave him a grin. “Fly true, kid,” he said, before meeting Fiona and Madeline in the Caddy. 

 

Fiona smirked as he started the car. “Beautiful, Sam?”

“Truth in advertising,” he replied, pulling them off onto the highway.

***   
The soaking hot heat of Mississippi felt like being broiled alive, and Sam wondered if they ought to just breeze through to Alabama without stopping. Madeline was still souvenir crazy, and she was the one who demanded they stop trucking through the state so she could pick up syrup and a bag of sorghum sugar. Sam liked the quiet of the country once they drove deeper into the coolness of the pine barrens – the general stillness of the breezeless pines and the warmth of the summer sun that just skirted the painful heat and humidity of Alabama. 

He shouldn’t have been surprised when they were flagged down by a couple of bearded white guys in overalls with a dry radiator when they hit the highway, but he was.

Fiona approached alongside him, while Madeline sat in the car and fanned herself with a folded map. Bit by bit, Sam drew out their story; their names were Elmer and Pete, and they’d been hauling moonshine to the Georgia border on the order of their selfish brother-in-law Aimsbury. Aimsbury was holding the whole mountain looking above them in his thrall; he was planning on turning a smart dime selling booze to the underage and the culinarially adventurous. They didn’t necessarily want to be moonshiners, of course; it was all Aimsbury’s idea, his lust for power that was motivating it all. And so they were bound on this foolish mission to move their product across the densely forested road. If, that was, they could get the drink over the boarder without drawing in any unnecessary attention.

“Why would they want to drink themselves blind on moonshine when they could have a Shiraz?” Fiona wondered.

“Miss,” said Pete, tugging on his long white beard with a huge grin on his face, “you ain’t tried my moonshine yet.”

Sam mentally decided that trying it himself would be foolish, as would helping them transport the booze. But he could do one thing for them: break Aimsbury’s hold on the mountains and set its people free.

He whispered the idea to Fiona as the brothers talked about the possibility of their brother hauling them over the pink-shadowed mountains by the tips of their toes. She had an idea that would speed up the wheels of justice. “We’ll find his stills and then we’ll blow ‘em up.” She didn’t even allow Sam another word before she dug into the supplies littering the back seat. The mountain men ignored her and continued to scratch their foreheads at the confusing notion of fully disobeying Aimsbury; they’d been so used to following his every order that this sudden offer of rebellion felt a bit alarming. But Fiona had her C4, and she had passion on her side too; soon she was insistently grabbing her equipment and requesting a hike up the mountain.

Well, Madeline wouldn’t let her go alone, and Sam - ever the gentleman, much to his own occasional regret – wasn’t about to let them starve in the wilderness on their lonesome. He wouldn’t let her go it alone up there among strangers, even if she ordered him to leave her alone. And so up the mountain they caravanned, inhaling the humid air, enjoying the sharp breezes, and prepared for anything fate might toss at them.

In this case, fate offered up a very small cabin hidden deep within the woods, with a huge smokestack belching out whiffs of sharp-smelling smoke and a bunch of pick-up trucks parked about the parameters. There was a large dog chained to the back axle of the car closest to the rickety wooden front porch of the largest cabin, and as Sam passed by it lunged toward him, trying to bite the exposed flesh of his lower arm.

Fiona responded to its aggressions by narrowing her eyes, approaching it quietly and barking repeatedly in its face until it curled into a ball and went silent. Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Aww, you try that on all of the bitches, don’t you, Fi?”

“No, but I have tried it on men,” she admitted. “Dogs are easier to tame, but either way it’ll make them piss their britches.”

As they entered the cabin, Sam was quietly surprised by how lavishly appointed the interior was. Everything gleamed beautifully, and awfully well, for a little cabin that was apparently part of a big bootlegging empire. 

Sam realized pretty quickly that there wasn’t any Aimsbury. If he hadn’t been clued in by the sudden flush of bright and affluent furniture in the tiny run-down cabin, the sound of a rifle cocking right behind his hip would have done the job nicely. 

“Hands up,” said one brother.

“You two too,” said the other one, pointing at a bare spot against the cabin’s thick log walls.

Sam and Fiona pulled Madeline into position. “Don’t you have a gun on you?” she hissed.

“Yeah, but I’m not risking a shootout this close to a tank of oxygen.” It was the sole sign that what they were operating in wasn’t a byproduct of the alcohol business. He could smell it now, the chemical stench of meth cooking somewhere nearby, wafting up from the floorboards. He’d dated women who had smoked it. His baby sister had disappeared into its clutches.

“You’re cooking meth,” Sam said. “Might as well come out and tell us.” 

“Boy, this fealla’s pretty bright!” said Pete. “Ain’t he bright, brother?”

“Cut to the chase,” Sam barked out. “Do you wanna mug us? Want the car? Or what?”

“Ain’t you that Fiona Glenanne broad the fellas at the FBI want?” 

“IF I were,” Fiona told the wall, “would it make a difference?”

“Might let you work your way to freedom if you are. From what I read about you online, you know your way around a lab. If you can stir up them explosives, you can probably make a batch of meth with no problem.”

“I’d love to boys. But I’m afraid I left my hazmat suit in my other car.”

“Oh, we’ve got plenty to spare,” he said. “Ought to be one down there that fits you just fine. Pretty mask with your initials smack dab in the center of ‘em. See, we know you know enough about chemicals to stir up a bomb. If you know how to blow some guy’s head off, I’m sure you can manage to make one hell of a killer batch of meth.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t see the connection between baking up a batch of drugs and blowing your house sky high,” said Fiona. Then they all heard the soft click of a finger tapping a trigger – it was enough to silence Fi.

Sam shot her a frantic look. He envisioned the aftermath – a cabin splintered all to hell in a fireball, or the possibility of survival - of himself having to perform triage on Fiona, trying to pry a bullet out of her chest with his bare fingertips. But nothing happened.

There as a deep dark laugh and a nude to the back of their attacker’s throat. But Sam felt the pressure of the muzzle at the back of his neck, and followed their barked order to take a left, open the large door set into the cabin wall, and head down the earthenware steps, grabbing a facemask on their way down. He obeyed and bided his time. There would be an opening, and he would simply need to seize it. 

He could say a thousand things about their manners and their way of treating him, but it was nothing compared to the way they were treating the people working their underground meth lab – For Sam had noted that the miles of glass tubing and high pressure cookers were being tended to by ragged looking women who lurched about as if they were drunk even with masks pressed close to their lips. They were addicts, judging from the size of their bodies and their woebegone expressions; and even worse they were clearly being starved. Sam tried to serepetously check them for bruises as they approached the table together. 

“She works,” said Pete, “you watch.”

Sam locked eyes with a dark-haired woman pouring crushed powder into a beaker. Sam had seen soldiers hacked to bits in his time, he’d had men die in his arms, but never had he seen such a look of despair in a human face as he did in this woman. No doubt in his mind dared interfere with the developing reality of the situation; she’d been tortured. For how long and by which of the brothers, he dared not ask. The woman next to her packing a clear, foul-smelling solution of bleach into another beaker couldn’t be more than sixteen; she flashed Sam an awkward grin, and then quickly returned to her business, clearly afraid to give him another second of her time, another flash of awkward contact might mean her death.

“Help her if you can,” said Pete, backing toward the doorway. “We got cameras all over this place, so don’t be trying any funny business.” Sam watched Fiona pretend to work until the door shut firmly behind them, then he went about locating the various camera stations while Maddie approached the women and Fiona continued to work away at her quasi-meth. 

“Please, honey,” Sam heard Madeline beg, “Have some of these nuts I bought. They’re fresh and warm, and you could use em much more than I can.”

But there was only a soft scoff from the woman she’d offered her charity to. “Ain’t no time for fussing over food. If we don’t finish, we don’t eat. We don’t eat, we don’t live, and I’m really into living, Miss. Sorry about your guilt.”

Madeline winced but Sam gave her only a perfunctory pat on his way to the corner of the room. He was eyeing a crack in the earthen line between the tough pine of the cabin’s floor and the rim of the basement. He found it then; the digital blink of a camera wincing on and off, transmitting their every word and deed. He dug about in the detritus for something to destroy the focus.

“Looks like I found our little friend,” he whispered to Maddie when she came to sit against the wall beside him. 

“Good. I’m not planning on spending my golden years watching Fiona make meth for a bunch of rednecks." She frowned. “I hope we can get them out of here, too.”

“Are you kidding? I’m not leaving this place without them. I’ll tear off my own nuts first.” As if by sheer will, Sam finally found what he was looking for in the dank, pitch-colored darkness; a discarded length of tubing no more than four inches long and three inches wide.

“Hey Fi – heat this up for me.” 

She smirked and took the length with a pair of tongs, then carefully and evenly heated it before handing the entire set-up back to Sam. He, careful not to burn himself on the red-hot glass, boosted himself up against the cool sod wall and – using the tongs for an extended reach – plunged the super-heated end of the beaker directly into the lens of the camera. There was an alarming sizzle as the system popped, malfunctioned and died out. He then swept the rest of the room for bugs and dismantled them, step by step, with all of the calm demeanor of somebody ordering eggs Benedict for breakfast.

But their fellow captives immediately panicked; it was the first time he’d seen them react in a manner that was miles above and around their usual zombielike shuffling. “We’re all gonna be killed!” she cried, wringing her hands in inconsolable horror. Fiona gently shook her by the shoulders.

“If they can’t see us,” Fiona said reasonably, “Then they won’t be able to figure out where we are. If they can’t figure out where we are then we have the advantage in an attack.”

“How do you know they’re not trying to find us right now?”

Fiona lifted her chin triumphantly. “Have you noticed that they’ve gotten a little sloppy lately? Are their teeth a little more black? Their nails a teeny bit more yellow?” She’d definitely noticed what Sam had noticed; they were desperate, and likely running low on cash, and working these women near to death because they were doing too much of their own product. “They’re probably off in the mountains getting high right now. The camera’s just a decoy with a little flashing light on it.” 

Sam prodded the last camera to death with the tip of his beaker before discarding it on the floor. “Looks like a flashlight they rigged with cheap discarded lenses from old cameras.” Sam stepped back from the sod and crossed his arms. “Anybody shocked they’re a pack of freaking liars?”

There was a quiet murmur of agreement that raced over the assembled women. Sam watched Fiona as she continued with her formula. The chemicals she’d heated up in the beaker were poured out on a cooling table, and then she got to work bending wires.

“I dunno what you’re doing,” Sam said in admiration, “but I like it.”

“Buy me a little more time,” she said, fitting together spare parts, and some little scraps she’d had left in her purse from half-built bombs into a fresh one. “I should be done with it in a few minutes.”

“Right, anything you say,” Sam said, watching her work in happy contemplation.

Madeline rolled her eyes at his sudden display of lovey-dovey behavior. “Does anybody mind if I smoke?”

“YES,” Sam and Fiona shouted, knowing that a single spark would set off an inferno. She glowered and sat back. Meanwhile, the other women watched Fiona’s progress with mild interest.

“What are you gonna do with all of that?”

“Let’s just say,” Sam told them,” that a lot of little wires and tiny crushed-up pills make for one big boom.”

“And just how are we gonna get out of this without dying?” the older one asked.

“These are remote detonators,” said Fiona. “All we have to do is attach this bomb to something and press this little button,” Fiona said, showing them an old switch she’d salvaged and packed away for months throughout their long journey. “And then this whole cabin will turn into a very big hole in the ground.”

Fiona stuffed the cooled mixture into her shirt pocket, just in time for the basement door to creek their way open. 

Sam might have predicted the state of mind of their captors; they didn’t look very with it as they wove their way downstairs. Pete took one look at the three of them and collapsed in a smiling, dead-eyed daze in a dark corner. Elmer stayed on his feet, wavering, but determined to gain their bounty. “Y’all finished with our meth yet?”

“Sure,” Fiona said, feigning innocence. She handed him back another beaker, one filled with a powdered substance. When he reached into the pocket of his denim overalls with a shaking hand, Fiona tsked him softly and shook her head. “Don’t waste your high smoking it!” she said. “My blend’s a special blend – it needs to be snorted if you really want to feel the sting.”

Suspicion clouded Elmer’s face. He turned the beaker of powder between his thick, stubby fingers thoughtfully before giving an agreeing shrug and tapping a thick, white line of the stuff across the back of his palm. He snorted it with the expertise of a long-term drug addict. 

At first there was no reaction at all. Then his features twisted. He swallowed hard, but doubled over when he opened his mouth to protest; groaning, he grabbed his belly. “Woman, what did you do to me!” he howled, then raced upstairs and outside to the building’s outhouse.

Fiona grinned smugly. “You tie up Pete, I’ll watch over Elmer,” said Fiona. 

Sam cringed as he heard Elmer’s distant moaning, but was provided a belt and a length of rope by one of the women, and bent to his task while wondering out loud “What the hell did you put in that meth?” 

“Did you really think I would give that man meth, Sam?” she wondered. “Remember when Madeline couldn’t sleep back in Creole Alley?” 

Sam only had to do a little bit of thinking to recall her unfortunate battle, which had forced them to make a long pit stop at a drug store. Michael’s mother was the one who volunteered the truth. “Right, you got me a Colace, thank you for broadcasting it across the whole cabin,” grumbled Madeline. 

“Fast Acting,” Fiona said loftily. “Seems it’s even faster-acting when you crush it up and snort it.”

Sam cackled. “I don’t know how you do it. I don’t know and I don’t wanna know – but damn, I’m glad you do.”

“Then don’t ask questions and drag our little friend down to the outhouse,” she said, and rushed upstairs.

It took some doing – the women who had been slaving over his meth for years wanted to stomp on him until he was black and bloody - but Sam managed to get Pete outside to the outhouse. He found Fi and Elmer in a spirited argument, and draped the still-drug dazed Pete against the side of the outhouse.

Sam checked on Madeline, then kept an eye on the others while he phoned the police, claiming that he was worried about a possible dogfighting ring being held deep within the woods. He and the women unleashed the guard dogs and let them go, then the three of them claimed a truck each and prepared to head back into the safety of the mountains.

“We’re going to need you to talk to the police,” Sam said. “To speak up against them, to testify!”

The oldest woman eyed him dispassionately. “Where was the law when we were chained to that table for hours at a time? I don’t trust them to help us now. I don’t think I ever did.”

Sam had no further recourse; he just headed back to see how Fiona was doing. Back at the outhouse, Elmer ranted still. “I don’t care how much evidence these bitches say they have!” he howled. “Y’all assaulted me!” 

“You had a bad reaction. Just relax. It’ll be over in fifteen hours.” The outhouse vibrated with his anger as he cursed at Fiona, railing against her. She handed Sam a length of bungee cord and they started to tie Elmer into the outhouse. Fiona whistled while they worked, then they gathered Madeline, who set upon the back step waiting for the two of them to finish rendering justice to Elmer.

“All I’ve gotta say is me and Pete were in it together with them. It ain’t like they’ve been starving out here .” He cackled. “You see! I’ll be right back out on the street again!”

“That’s enough outta you!” growled Sam, punting the door, making it vibrate ominously. “All right – there’s enough evidence here to get them put away for awhile; ten years in the pen ought to dry them out.” Sam raised an eyebrow as Fiona frowned. “You really want to use all of that C4 you made.”

She smirked. “Every girl deserves a little bit of fun,” she reminded him. “And there are a few cars that could probably stand to be left in a flaming pile. Just so he’ll learn his lesson a little more thoroughly…”

Sam shook his head. “I know what’ll happen if I say no,” he grumbled. “Fine, just hurry it up.”

It took Fi a few minutes to set up the charges – but by the time they were done she had two trucks loaded for bear. They took cover up the road, several miles from the main street – and Sam knew they’d have to leg it back to where the Charger had been dumped. This worked better than a signal flare to alert the cops to their position, to drive them through the thick woods into the mountains where their coordinates could be far more finite and much better understood by those looking for them.

He and Madeline took cover behind a bolder, watching as Fiona set off the charges. The blinding white light took out both trucks with the radiant insistence of a nuclear bomb, nearly binding them with its radiance. 

A flaming tire rolled by – a bumper landed atop the outhouse, making Elmer shriek in alarm. 

“Fi,” Sam choked out, sitting at the edge of the woods and watching them burn, “what the hell did you put in that beaker?”

Fiona lifted her shoulders, shrugging merrily. “A little from column a, and a little from column b.”

“WE ALMOST DIED,” Sam screamed.

“You said to use up the rest of the C4 I had. That’s the rest of it!” she said, as little tar paper flakes rained down from the sky. 

Sam groaned. “Fine. Whatever. Now that it’s over and done, we’re hitchhiking back to the Charger pronto!”

“Agreed,” Fiona said mildly, waving him off as he tried to help her up. Madeline was already on her feet, frowning into the sunlight, the burning piles of tire and rubble making her cringe. 

“Before the police find us,” Madeline agreed.

The next tire that rolled by stopped right at the foot of the granite boulder. Maddie shrugged, bent, and lit her cigarette off of the rim of the flaming rubber. 

*** 

They found the car with some difficulty. By the time Sam got them back on the road they were four hours behind schedule, and they had to stop for the night right upon the Georgia state line. They found an inn in the farm country a few miles off the highway, and there they settled down for dinner.

Sam enjoyed the hell out of those rubbery egg rolls, the half-boiled lo mein and the chicken pad thai that tasted like it had been scraped off of the road and grilled for ten minutes. Madeline had her soap on again, and for the millionth time Victor died with his arms around Arabella’s waist. For the hundredth time Sam laughed at the cheesy sets, awful dialogue and skimpy costumes. For the hundredth time he watched Fiona laugh and knew she felt the way he did – relieved, thrilled, happy. He watched Madeline eat her potato chips with her heels propped up against the back of a ratty, brown calico print easy chair and felt her happiness, too. Soon they had to break it up, and he walked Madeline outside so she could smoke a cigarette. Then there wasn’t anything left to do but turn the lights down and let the night envelop them – let the stars suck him away to a peaceful world where there wasn’t anything there but clouds and peace.

In the morning they turned the ignition and piled back into the Charger, Sam swore she saw one of the women they’d released from that drug mill of horrors, singing softly and wending her way through the soft pines and weedy undebrushes, the sound of the hills deep in the pit of her throat, her arms waving like a branch caught in the wind.

*** 

Sam knew the path through Georgia like he knew his own heartbeat – he’d driven it too many times when they’d needed to rescue some poor soul from a disaster that was beyond their reasoning. Madeline made them pull off the road and take a picture next to Big Stone Gap. Then they took in breakfast at a greasy spoon four miles from the Florida border. 

There, Madeline found a pregnant, down-on her luck waitress with eyes as big and sad as the moon, and a smile filled with subtle pain that bespoke of years of trauma. 

She needed to get home to her mother. She needed to find somebody to look out for her and the baby, and she needed to get out of the mountains. Madeline listened to her all throughout the meal, and the story she gave them was enough to make even an old salt like Sam feel bad for her. 

But they didn’t have enough money left to get her home. Sam could give her references and Fiona could teach her how to stretch her paycheck for an extra week, but there wasn’t enough for a train ticket; just enough for gas and to pay off their bill.

Sam was stricken silent when Maddie quietly reached into her purse and handed the girl what she could; an amethyst charm Frank had given her years ago – a handful of quarters from a casino they’d hit back in Nevada. Then she passed the hat around, forcing every other person sitting in the diner to donate a little something of their own, no matter how meager a contribution it seemed to the naked eye. 

When the hat was full she handed the hat to the brimming-eyed teenager, who promised she wouldn’t forget them if she ever saw them again. 

There were questions once they were back on the road – mostly from Sam. “Maddie, that was the only hat you packed,” Sam grumbled. “I hope you don’t mind giving it away.”

“Haven’t the three of you always made charity an important thing?” Maddie pointed out. “I’m just evening things out,” she insisted. “Tossing around a little bit of universal karma.”

“How zen,” Fiona remarked.

“Shush,” Maddie demanded, and lit her cigarette.

**** 

Miami hadn’t changed. The heat still felt tropical against Sam’s skin, the women were still beautiful and scantily dressed as they sashayed down the street. Maddie’s house was beautiful, if smelling bit of mildew; they stopped there to change clothing and contemplate Sam’s meeting.

“Isn’t it amazing?” Fiona said to him. “No matter how it works out, we end up at Michael’s beck and call. He can’t tell me what to do and yet I’m doing it without him lifting a finger.”

“Hey, we don’t have to make this trip about Mikey. Hell, it ain’t even really about him, is it?” 

“What are you getting at, Sam?”

“Well, think about what we just went through,” Sam told her. “Think about all of the people we helped along the way.” 

She sighed. “Oh Sam. You’re ever the Pollyanna.”

“And without that we’d be lost,” Madeline pointed out. Sam thought it kind of her to say so, but didn’t make a move toward her. “We all need each other. Even Michael needs us – I think he just has a hard time trying to tell us to our faces.”

Sam chortled. “Yeah. That’d be a big help. At least I’d know what I’m walking into today.”

Madeline squeezed his upper arm. “We’ll both be in the car waiting for you. And then after….we’ll decide where home is. Maybe it’s a car in Arizona, or maybe it’s here. But…”

“It’s together or nothing,” Fiona said.

Sam felt the truth within his mind and soul; they were both right. Together or nothing, that was the way it would be from here on in.

And if Mikey didn’t want to join them he would have to stand against them.

*** 

Carlitos was as busy as ever when Sam settled down for his meeting. He took a look around at what remained; the old clientele, the beautiful waitresses who still remembered his name, and the smell of barbeque cooking in the kitchen. Maybe it would be Sam’s last time here; maybe it would be just one of many. All he knew was that he was ready for anything Mike had to throw at him. It was the benefit of having known him so well, for so many years. His buddy would point him in the right direction. His buddy would set the pace, and Sam would happily follow along with anything he asked him to do.

And then the magic moment happened – the crowd parted and there was Michael, standing alone in casual linens. He looked good. A little thin, maybe, but tanned, bearded, and muscular. When he saw Sam his eyes lit up, and he made his way toward the table quietly.

“You look great,” Michael said.

Did he? Sam felt as if he’d thinned out a little, but he’d definitely gained something in the way of musculature. “So do you.” Sam took a drink – ice water, just so Michael could see he wasn’t fooling around. “Mike, I know it’s been awhile. A lot of stuff’s happened, and I don’t know if you’ve heard about it. Me and Fi…”

“…Have been doing a great job,” Michael interrupted. “Everybody’s been watching you. That drug mill raid, that prostitution ring – you saved a lot of innocent people. I’m very proud of both of you.” 

“Yeah, well – I learned from the best.” Sam took a long draught from his glass. “We’ve been in Phoenix,” he said, “with Nate. We’ve all been taking care of each other. We closed up the loft and her house, and Fi’s place; they’re all still secure, if you need a place to crash.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Michael said.

Sam was taken aback. The chickens had come home to roost; Mikey had finally gotten free of whatever creepy shadow agency he’d been captured by and tried to find the four of them. They’d left it to Mikey to find them, had known he’d discover where they’d gone and would chase them down somehow. And here they sat, face to face, Sam left uneasy and queasy by the entire situation. “What do you mean, Mikey?” he asked.

Michael gave him a cringed. “I’m going back into deep cover next month,” he said. “They need me in Saudi Arabia.” He reached into his back pocket. “Can you give this to Fi for me?”

Sam took the note into his large hand. Held it. He knew he had no right to. “Why can’t you talk to her face-to-face?”

“Because if I talk to her now I’ll just put her in danger,” Michael took a slug of his wine. “I’m risking everything I have just to talk to you right now, Sam. To see you one more time. I’ll come back from this, but I don’t know when.”

Sam swallowed hard. “All right, buddy. If you’re gonna go out there without backup for this country of ours, the least you can do is let me buy you another beer.”

One beer led to two. Soon Michael had to leave, the booze having made him slightly more emotional than he would normally be. On the way out he rested a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“Thank you for taking care of them, Sam.” Michael said, squeezing his fingers against bone. “Fi, my mom. You could be lying out on a beach somewhere and instead you’re here, taking care of the people who mean

“Brother, that’s where you’re mistaken. They’re not taking care of me. We’re taking care of each other.”

Michael gave him an awkward smile before leafing through his wallet, dropping a wad of cash on the table as a form of apology. Sam said nothing, did nothing, but headed back to the loft.

**** 

Fiona was waiting for him, sitting perched on the stairs like a housecat, quietly ruling a domain that’s not her own. She tensed as Sam parked and sauntered up the stairs.

“How did it go?”

“Better than I expected,” Sam said. He quickly decided not to sugarcoat it. “He’s going back in, Fi.” Retrieving a letter from his pocket, he handed it to her. 

He gave her space to read it; headed into the kitchen. After all, there was flat beer to get rid of. He waited for her to finish while pouring it out.

Finally she approached him, dry tear tracks decorating her cheeks. She’d tucked the letter away somewhere – he didn’t ask where, had the smarts to know that she’d volunteer the information if she wanted to.

“Are you going to be okay?” Sam asked. 

She squeezed the hand holding her shoulder. “I’m fine. This is what he’s always wanted.” Sam wondered why Fiona wasn’t fighting him, fighting this, but then he felt her peck his cheek. “It’s meant to be. I was meant to be with you and we were meant to help Madeline.”

“Yeah. But the question is – where will we live?”

Fiona shook her head. “Let’s not think about it now. We’ll talk about it in the morning. But right now there’s a warm bed over there and a big, beautiful city we’ve been missing. Why don’t we paint it red?”

Sam grinned. It was great advice and he decided to follow her lead –for once.

But he left a yogurt in the fridge for Michael, a calcium-laden night light dotted over with blueberries. Sam wanted it facing forward, standing sentry before the beer, a permanent gesture of affection. The lights would be on.

Just in case he came back.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction uses characters from **Burn Notice** , all of whom are the property of the **USA Network**. No money was earned from the writing of this piece of fanfiction, and the author makes no legal claim upon the characters within.


End file.
